Wednesday, 11 August 2010

Pulp Non-Fiction

Before we go any further, know this:

We hate you, and want you to hate us. What other explanation could there be? Perhaps it's arrogance, or jealousy. Or hubris, or insecurity. We will go out of our way to create an atmosphere of antipathy towards ourselves. We won't use guns, we won't use bombs, we'll use the one thing we've got more of: that's our sentimental, saccharine and florid prose.

Good. That out of the way, some corrections, clarifications and addenda:

Overly clicky flashlight: This was a battery-less torch powered by hand-squeezing motion, the sort of thing that millionaire inventors develop for use in earthquake-prone third world countries (like America? ooooooh satire). It actually proved kind of useless as it was impossible to erect (hur hur) a tent whilst using it as it required near-constant pumping to remain alight. This year, we learned our lesson, and brought a car into the campsite.

Vinyl-covered Kremlin: My friend Chris found this in the basement of his apartment building in SF, along with most of his furniture. It proved very useful for exactly four days.

Steep, disjointed hills of San Francisco: fuck you, bitch. Steep, maybe. Disjointed? You just jealous of my adopted topography (adopography?).

Encapsulated spontaneity? Sure, why not. I was on a Kerouac kick that year, except with a credit card and internal flights instead of riding the rails. So, uh, not at all like Kerouac, which is kind of a good thing as I think he was a bit of a tit really. Point is, I had the time, money and motivation to be spontaneous that year. I've tried telling her this but somehow we only seem to spend time together in situations that end up being awesome. I think this is a good sign.

Oh, and thanks, I've now got the Tetris music stuck in my head.

1 comment:

  1. I just cracked the hell up laughing in the middle of Starbucks and it's all your fault, GEEKS :P